


Those Magic Changes

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Those People
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 16:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: During Quentin’s second year at Brakebills, the twin he never knew is tapped to take the exam, but he may also alter Quentin’s life in ways he never thought possible.





	Those Magic Changes

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Week 4 of the Welters Challenge: “Crossovers,” and because of my obsession with Those People. I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic! Enjoy.

Those Magic Changes

By Lexalicious70 (TheChampagneKing70)

 

Studying magic at Brakebills taught you many things.

 

It taught you how to prepare spells, how to cast them according to the environment around you, and what kind of magic you were most adept at according to your discipline (when and if they could find it.)

 

But what it didn’t teach you is that magic wasn’t good for squat when a personal crisis or tragedy turned your life upside down. And that, Quentin reflected as he sat on the couch in the Physical Kids cottage with a thick manila folder in his hand, was a lesson that the faculty should teach above anything else.

 

The couch tilted slightly as someone sat down next to him and then a long, elegant finger tapped the folder.

 

“What’s this?”

 

Quentin looked up to see Eliot watching him expectantly. Quentin lifted a hand, began to speak, then faltered.

 

“I . . . I don’t even know where to begin, El!”

 

“May I?” Eliot took the folder from Quentin before he was even finished nodding and flipped it open. Inside were some official-looking documents and Eliot’s eyes widened as he read through them.

 

“Quentin . . . holy shit!”

 

“See what I mean? I don’t even know where to begin! Dean Fogg gave me those when he called me to his office because he didn’t think I’d take his word for it, and I know they’re real, but—how could my parents have kept this from me? And now Fogg says I have to meet him? Christ, Eliot, what am I supposed to say? What’s he supposed to say to me?”

 

“I don’t know.” Eliot replied after a moment, and Quentin ran a hand over his face. Eliot offered up his flask and Quentin shook his head.

 

“No, thanks, I don’t think even that is going to help.”

 

“When are you supposed to meet him?”

 

“Dean Fogg said he’d have Professor Li escort him here—” Quentin turned his head at a commanding knock at the door. “—Oh God, that’s him. El that’s him, what am I going to do?”

 

Eliot got to his feet and smoothed out his silk vest before tugging Quentin up.

 

“You’re going to answer the door and invite him in.”

 

Quentin walked to the door with Eliot shooing him along from behind. He opened it to find Professor Li there, his expression enigmatic and serene as always, and behind him, a young man of average height with collar-length sandy hair like his own, not quite brunette but not light enough to be truly blond. Dark eyes stared at him over Professor Li’s shoulder, who stepped aside without comment until Quentin and the stranger who wore his face were eye to eye. Eliot nudged him from behind, and Quentin took a deep breath before offering his twin brother his hand to shake.

 

“Welcome to Brakebills, Sebastian.”

 

_____________________________________________

 

“But this must be some kind of joke.” Sebastian Blackworth said for the third time as Eliot offered him a martini. The young man accepted it with air of one who was used to handing liquor glasses, one of the dozen things Eliot noticed Sebastian didn’t have in common with his twin in the twenty minutes he’d been in the cottage. Professor Li had done one of his trademark fades, but Eliot knew he’d show back up to escort Sebastian back to the first-year dorms before the evening was out.

 

“It’s not a joke. Magic is real, and you were offered the preliminary exam, just like I was last year. And also like me, you passed. You could be a magician.”

 

“A magician.” Sebastian sipped his drink. “Top hat, cape, sawing ladies in half? I may not have many options for a lucrative career thanks to my father’s dealings, but that’s rather scraping the bottom of the barrel, isn’t it?”

 

“That’s not what magic is.” Quentin said, and Sebastian tipped his head to one side as he set his glass aside.

 

“I suppose anything’s possible, seeing as how the man I thought was my father, isn’t, and my real father, who I’ll never meet because he died from cancer six months ago, chose to give me up for adoption.”

 

“Look, I know it’s a lot to take in . . . it is for me, too! My parents never told me about you, but according to the records Dean Fogg gave me, my—our—mother had severe post-partum depression and they couldn’t care for us both.” Quentin glanced away and tucked a lock of hair behind his right ear. “They made a decision that they thought was the best for everyone, I guess.”

 

“Giving me away was the best decision?” Sebastian snapped, and Quentin looked up, his eyes widening.

 

“I was two days old when it happened! It’s not like I had a say!”

 

“I think we can agree that you were both innocent in what happened.” Eliot put in. “You were at the mercy of people who weren’t expecting two children, thanks to the inferior sonogram technology of the early 90s, and a decision was made without you ever knowing.”

 

“And who are you, again?” Sebastian asked, peering up at Eliot, and Quentin bristled.

 

“He already introduced himself.”

 

“That’s all right, Q. Clearly, your spare wasn’t raised with manners.” Eliot rose from the couch in one fluid movement and headed toward the bar, leaving Sebastian flushed.

 

“His _spare_? How dare you!”

 

“And how dare _you_!” Eliot shot back from behind the bar as he shook up a cocktail with a bit more force than was probably necessary. “You passed the Brakebills exam, _brava_ , but that doesn’t mean Quentin had to speak with you or even meet you! He did it out of the goodness of his heart, so maybe blaming him for your parents’ choice in which baby they gave away isn’t the best way to show your gratitude!”

 

“I didn’t ask for that either, or to be brought here!” Sebastian countered. “I wasn’t doing anything more extraordinary than trying to learn how to use the goddamned subway when I went down a corridor and ended up on the front lawn of wherever this is!”

 

“Brakebills. The same thing happened to me last year.” Quentin said. “Only I came from Brooklyn.” He shook his head. “This is so bizarre . . . I mean, neither of our parents were magicians but we both have magical ability?”

 

“Having magical—whatever—is the least of my problems right now!” Sebastian glanced away. “But as it happens, I need housing. I recently sold my apartment building.”

 

“You owned an entire building?” Quentin asked, and Sebastian drained his glass.

 

“Yes. In Manhattan.” He set the glass aside. “You’ve never heard of Richard Blackworth?”

 

“We’re kind of insular here at Brakebills. News doesn’t always filter in.” Quentin said.

 

“Do you parents know where you are?”

 

“I told my dad. Uhm. Before.” Quentin gestured. “I didn’t want him to die without knowing who I really am.” He paused. “I’m not sure where my mother is. She went on some painting sabbatical last year. Italy or Greece, I think? She didn’t even make it back for the funeral. She sent a telegram, though.”

 

Eliot sat beside Quentin and pushed a glass of scotch into his hands. Sebastian nodded and tapped his fingers on his knees. His fingernails were finely manicured.

 

“Well. I suppose I should see to my living situation.” He said, and Quentin glanced up as he got to his feet.

 

“You’re staying?” He asked, and his twin smiled, no trace of humor reaching his dark eyes.

 

“If you knew who Richard Blackworth was, you’d understand how little I have to go back to.” He walked toward the door and Quentin turned to Eliot.

 

“Can’t he stay here? We have two empty rooms thanks to those two first-years who didn’t pass the trials last winter!”

 

Eliot frowned.

 

“Quentin—I don’t know. Not only is he already grossly behind, he has an abhorrent personality! No offense.”

 

“I was the same way when Fogg moved me to the cottage! I’m amazed you or Margo didn’t strangle me in my sleep!”

 

“Don’t count it out yet.” Margo said from a nearby chair, where she pouted at being usurped from her usual place at Eliot’s side on the couch. Quentin ran both hands through his hair.

 

“Eliot please . . . he’s my brother!”

 

Eliot glanced over at Sebastian’s retreating form, hesitated, then rolled his eyes.

 

“Curse my bleeding heart,” He muttered, and Margo rolled her eyes.

 

“I’ll say.”

 

Eliot shot her a look and she gave him a knowing smile before getting up and leaving the room, to presumably pursue gossip, a sexual conquest, or to assume her final form. Eliot knew she’d be back to torment him some more later. Quentin jumped up.

 

“Wait!” He said to Sebastian, who paused at the door. Quentin went to him.

 

“You can stay here. The dorms are cramped and you won’t have any privacy. Here, you’ll get your own room and there’s three bathrooms. And it’s fun! Well . . . most of the time.”

 

Sebastian regarded his twin for several moments, noticing his lack of eye contact, his sleeve pulling, and how obviously smitten he was with Eliot Waugh. Either the other magician didn’t feel the same way or he was oblivious, thanks to his hedonism, something Sebastian could appreciate, even if he was an arrogant ass.

 

“We’ll have to arrange it with Dean Fogg,” Quentin was saying, “but I’m sure it’ll be all right. So. Will you stay?”

 

Sebastian glanced around the room until he and Eliot locked eyes and he saw the challenge there.

 

“Sure.” He said at last. “Might as well make the best of it.”

 

____________________________________________

 

 

A few hours later, Sebastian moved into the Physical Kids cottage with a meager yet tasteful collection of clothing and a few other possessions. He put his things away in an orderly manner and crawled into bed in a way that suggested he hadn’t slept well during the previous weeks. Quentin closed the bedroom door and started hard as he nearly ran into Margo as he turned away.

 

“Creep much? Jeez!” He said, and Margo lifted her chin.

 

“Do you want to know more about your brother?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Margo shook some printed pages at him, and Quentin gaped at her.

 

“You went and looked him up?”

 

“Christ, calm down, it’s nothing anyone can’t find on the _USA Today_ site.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him into her bedroom, which smelled like exotic flowers and her vanilla skin scrub. He glanced around and she shooed him over to the bed, where she sat down with him. He stiffened, poking his hands between his knees, and Margo pursed her lips.

 

“Relax. This isn’t _The Erotic Awakening of Quentin Coldwater_ , starring us.”

 

“I’m not—”

 

“You’re not a virgin, right, got it. ANYway . . . here’s the lowdown on Jay Gatsby over there.” She jerked her chin at the door and handed Quentin the papers. He took them with a frown and Margo narrowed her eyes at him.

 

“You’re welcome!”

 

Quentin sighed and began to sift through papers, slowly at first, then more quickly, his eyes widening.

 

“This is who his adoptive father was? A thief and a criminal?”

 

“A thief and a criminal who hung himself right after a holiday visit from his only son. Imagine dealing with that action!”

 

“But Sebastian tried to right all his father’s wrongs. That’s why he sold almost everything he owned!”

 

“I guess so. I mean, I would have grabbed what I could and made tracks for the South of France, but that’s just me.” Margo materialized a nail file into her right hand and worked on the nail of the other index finger. “I hate to say it, Quentin, but it looks like your twin has more baggage than a Beyonce world tour.”

 

Quentin read through the second scandal sheet.

 

“Did you read all of these?”

 

“Only some.”

 

“This one says he’s gay!”

 

“You didn’t work that out?”

 

“Well—no. I mean . . . Eliot didn’t say . . .”

 

“It’s not like a boy scout troop! They don’t all know each other!”

 

Quentin felt his cheeks heat with a deep blush.

 

“I know that! It’s just—how do I deal? Do I ask him about it? Or about any of this?” He held up the papers. Margo shook her head.

 

“I was an only child. I honestly have no advice for you in this area. Just—just don’t Quentin out over anything and try to be his friend, I guess.”

 

Quentin got up from the bed.

 

“Thanks for this.” He motioned to the papers. “Usually you’re not this invested in anything I do.”

 

Margo lifted a shoulder.

 

“Slow week. Now get out of my room before someone sees you and assumes we’re sleeping together.”

 

____________________________________

 

 

 Three days passed. The new semester began, and Sebastian proved to be a competent but antisocial student that walked to his classes alone and ate his meals with his nose in a book. He had none of Alice’s obvious brilliance or Eliot’s natural gifts with magic, but by the third day, as Quentin paused by the door to his brother’s room, he noticed that his Poppers were coming along nicely. Sebastian was working his fingers as he sat on the bed, flexing them to bend the way he wanted. Sebastian glanced up and saw him watching.

 

“Something I can help you with?”

 

“I don’t know . . . can I come in?”

 

“I suppose so.” Sebastian nodded. Quentin stepped into the room. It looked the same as the day it had when Sebastian had moved in, except now there was a simple 70s-style turntable on the nightstand, the kind with a square acrylic cover. The cover was cocked back, and a vinyl record spun on the spindle. Quentin listened and recognized “Oh, Better Far to Live and Die” from _The Pirates of Penzance_ soundtrack. He raised a set of mental eyebrows: his mother had loved musicals.

 

_Our mother_ , Quentin reminded himself. _The one who was so depressed after our birth that she gave one of us away_.

 

“Your friend loaned me the record player when he noticed I had a collection of vinyl.”

 

“My friend?”

 

“The tall one. Maybe he felt badly about how he treated me the other day.”

 

“Maybe?” Quentin allowed, although he knew from experience that Eliot didn’t spend a lot of time pondering past actions. He sat down on the bed. “So, what do you think of Brakebills so far?”

 

“It gave me a stay of social execution. So there’s that.” Sebastian took a cigarette case out of his nightstand drawer, along with a slim sliver lighter. He offered one to Quentin, who shook his head.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Sebastian lit the cigarette and exhaled a rich plume of smoke a few moment later.

 

“I told you about my father. He was the most hated man in New York City, and as his heir, I was pursued by photographers, harassed by reporters, and denied service at most bars and restaurants in Manhattan. It got so bad that after awhile I refused to leave my apartment. My friends came to stay with me, at least until the press began to associate them with me and they became social pariahs as well.”

 

“But it was your father who cheated all those people! Not you.” Quentin said, and Sebastian took another drag of his cigarette.

 

“I knew about it. That was enough for them to crucify me.”

 

“Oh, Better Far to Live and Die” gave way to “What Ought We to Do?” The player’s needle gave a satisfying crackle in between songs.

 

“You tried to do the right thing.” Quentin said, and Sebastian gave him a wry, twisted grin.

 

“Maybe in the end I did. That’s usually when I tend to come through.” He exhaled another cloud of smoke. “He likes you, you know. Your friend. He talked about you almost non-stop when he brought me the record player.”

 

“Eliot did?” Quentin felt his face warm. “Well . . . we’re good friends. I don’t think I would have made it here without him and Margo.”

 

“Do you blush like that when you talk about your other friends?” Sebastian asked, and Quentin frowned.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“I said, he likes you. You obviously feel the same way. Why don’t you go for it?”

 

“Go for—no! I’m not—I’m not that way!”

 

“You mean you’re not a homosexual.”

 

“No! It’s—no offense or anything, there’s nothing wrong with it, I’m just not like that!”

 

“You realize I am.”

 

Quentin folded his arms across his chest.

 

“I didn’t. Not right away.”

 

“Does it offend you?”

 

“Christ, no!”

 

Sebastian watched him for a long moment. “Sexuality isn’t a fixed point on a chart, Quentin. It’s fluid; it’s changeable. If you have feelings for Eliot that you don’t understand or that are new to you, it’s not unusual, you don’t have to feel badly. Even people like me fall for their friends sometimes.” A shadow crossed his face. “It doesn’t always work out, but if they’re strong enough you should act on them!”

 

Quentin tucked his hands up under his arms.

 

“Even if I did have those feelings, even if Eliot does like me that way, which I seriously doubt—there’s no way I can.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I’m—I’m me! I’m a mess, Sebastian . . . before I came to Brakebills I was a depressed, anxious dumpster fire. I was hospitalized for it more than once.” He looked away. “I guess I’m more like our mother than I want to think about.”

 

Sebastian leaned forward.

 

“I’m going to tell you something about myself.” He said, and it caused an echo in Quentin’s memory, an echo of Eliot telling him the story of how he’d discovered his telekinesis. “I’ve tried to commit suicide before. The most recent time was last New Year’s Eve, shortly after my father killed himself in prison. My feelings about him, and about my best friend Charlie were so fucked up that it seemed like the easiest thing in the world. Just close the book. End it with a dramatic flourish. It was Charlie that talked me down off that ledge.” He crushed out his cigarette. “So. You don’t corner the market on being mentally fucked up, Quentin.”

 

Quentin glanced up at his twin and nodded.

 

“Thank you. You know—for telling me that.” He said softly, then took a deep breath. “I just don’t know how. When it comes to approaching people or telling someone that I like them or flirting.” He admitted, and a smile curved over Sebastian’s full mouth.

 

“Then let me help you.”

 

“How?”

 

“Leave it to me, Mr. Higgins . . . leave it to me!”

 

___________________________________

 

_One Week Later_

 

“Oh, Goddamn it all!”

 

Margo turned her head, frowning, as she heard the curse ring out from the depths of Eliot’s closet. 

 

“El? What’s the problem?” She called, and Eliot came to the doorway, his long arms laden with clothing, his face uncharacteristically flushed.

 

“I can’t find my Perry Ellis jacket! The blue one with the darker trim!”

 

“That’s a little showy for a walk to PA, isn’t it?”

 

“Oh—you wouldn’t understand!” Eliot snapped as he stormed back into the closet, and Margo rolled her eyes as she got off the bed.

 

“Okay. When you make statements like that, it’s time to pull the emergency switch on the train to Hysteriaville.” She walked into the closet and tugged on his arm. “Eliot! What is it? Really?” She asked, and Eliot turned to her. For a moment Margo didn’t know if he was going to open up or order her out of the room, but then he ticked over into sharing mode.

 

“I think Quentin is getting involved with someone.” He folded his long arms over his chest. “A man.”

 

“A man? Okay, and we think that why?”

 

“Because I’ve seen all the signs, Margo! He’s pulled away from Alice, he’s not spending nights alone in his room anymore—and he’s wearing his hair differently!” This last bit was said as if Eliot was revealing the Holy Grail of Really Relevant Information for her, and she tapped her fingernails on the closet wall.

 

“Hmm. Those are all pretty unusual signs, I admit. Especially the part where he’s not sitting up in his room mooning over Fillory.”

 

“Exactly! I just know it’s a man, Margo! Q has finally realized what he’s all about! I just thought when he did, it—” He clamped his teeth over his bottom lip and Margo took his hand.

 

“You thought he’d realize it because of you. Well, maybe it’s not too late! Maybe we can shift his attention away from this person! We really should find out who it is anyway, give him our stamp of approval. God knows we can’t let him date some first-year loser. He might be a mess, but he’s our mess, and he’ll need guidance.”

 

“I don’t think I can do that, Bambi.” Eliot said softly, and she tugged him out of the closet.

 

“Don’t grieve yet, sweetie. It could be we can nip this in the bud!”

 

“Eliot? Can you come out here?” Sebastian’s voice called from the hallway, and Eliot frowned.

 

“What could he possibly want?” He asked, crossing the room to open the door. Sebastian smiled up at him.

 

“Sorry about the intrusion, but I need your expert opinion.” He went into Quentin’s room and dragged his twin out. Eliot felt his jaw unhinge and hang open before he forced it closed with a snap that almost severed his tongue. Quentin was wearing a designer suit in a soft shade of dove grey with slightly darker trim and an open-throat white silk shirt. The dark loafers on his feet carried a high shine. Eliot struggled to find his voice and willed his cock to stay soft at the same time. He mostly succeeded.

 

“Is—is that a Prada suit?” He asked, and Sebastian nodded.

 

“It is. It’s mine . . . one of the few things I brought with me from Manhattan. I’m loaning it to Quentin for a special occasion.”

 

Quentin adjusted the collar and Sebastian slapped his hand. Quentin gave him a look before tipping his gaze up to Eliot.

 

“Eliot? How do you think I look?”

 

Eliot looked him up and down. The cut of the suit revealed everything his frumpy sweaters and baggy dad jeans usually hid: his lean chest, his arms, toned from months of casting, his pale, perfect throat. Sebastian tapped his twin’s shoulder.

 

“Give us a spin.” He coaxed, and after a moment, Quentin relented. Eliot watched and noticed how even Margo’s eyes widened as the tailoring of the slacks showed off Quentin’s round ass in a way they’d never seen it displayed before. Eliot cleared his throat and put both hands behind his back so he didn’t give into temptation and squeeze Quentin’s ass, preferably until the younger magician gasped.

 

“You look amazing, Q.” Eliot said at last, and Margo gave a wolf whistle.

 

“What’s the special occasion?” She asked, and Sebastian smiled and patted Quentin’s shoulder.

 

“Tell them.” He said, and Quentin squirmed a little.

 

“Well, uhm . . . I’m—I’m going to ask someone out. For the first time.” He admitted, and Eliot mustered every emotional trick he knew to keep his expression neutral.

 

“That’s wonderful! Anyone we know?”

 

“It’s—kind of a secret. So it doesn’t get out before I can do it. You know.” Quentin muttered, and Sebastian nodded.

 

“But it is someone here at Brakebills?” Eliot asked, and Quentin nods.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well. That’s . . . it’s wonderful news, Quentin! I certainly wish you luck.” Eliot said, and Sebastian snapped his fingers, as if suddenly recalling something.

 

“That reminds me, Eliot! We have another favor to ask. Could you loan us the cottage common room this Friday evening? Quentin wanted to invite his would-be beau here to ask him out. I thought I’d whip up a bit of dinner for them, set a nice table. Give my brother the benefit of my experience?”

 

“Yes! Yes . . . of course, and if it’s a chef you need, I’d be glad to offer my culinary services.” Eliot replied, and Margo gave him a look that suggested if he was headed to the gallows, he’d probably offer to help the hangman measure the noose. He ignored her. Sebastian smiled.

 

“That’s very kind of you! Friday night then, shall we say . . . seven?”

 

Eliot indulged himself with one more glance at Quentin in that suit, perfectly housing everything he’d never get to discover, and nodded as he shoved his emotions down to the soles of his feet.

 

“Seven, then.”

 

___________________________________________________

 

Eliot moved like a sleepwalker through the rest of the week as he attended classes during the day and spent a lot of time in his room at night with a bottle or two of Moscato as he listened to Sebastian and Quentin play records and Sebastian coach his twin on how to talk to his date, how to move to catch his attention, what kind of wine to serve. It was obvious that Sebastian knew what he was talking about and his recommendations were flawless, but Eliot hated him for leading Quentin down a path that led him anywhere but his own arms.

 

Friday evening came, and Eliot cleared the cottage before meeting Sebastian in the kitchen. Sebastian wasn’t much at hands-on cooking, but he knew which foods complemented each other and soon Eliot had a pan of chicken marsala and braised asparagus going. A gilded table was set in the other room, complete with a blindingly white tablecloth and muted, colored lights swimming across the ceiling, thanks to a spell Margo had taught Quentin the night before.

 

_Everyone’s a Goddamned traitor_ , Eliot thought to himself as he shook the pan of asparagus and watched Sebastian pour two glasses of wine.

 

“So who is it? Surely you must know.”

 

“Oh, I know.” Sebastian smiled. “But I promised Quentin I wouldn’t tell.”

 

“Why do you want to help him so badly? You don’t seem like the type who enjoys pleasing people.”

 

“You’d be right on that account. I usually don’t care for people, and they don’t care for me. But I owe Quentin one. He gave me a place to stay, someplace where no one knows me and where I might be able to form a future.”

 

Eliot tried not to snort as he reflected that he’d given Quentin permission to allow his brother to stay in the cottage and hid his gall under stirring the marsala. Sebastian took the wine into the other room and Eliot plated the food as he glanced at the clock above the stove. Everything was ready but he hadn’t heard anyone knock at the door yet.

 

“Eliot? I need you a moment!” Sebastian called from the other room, and Eliot went, tossing his apron aside, praying that Sebastian hadn’t spilled the wine. He stepped into the room, blinked once, then stared.

 

Quentin was standing in front of the table, two dozen white roses in his arms. The colored lights played across his face and hair, and he wore his brother’s Prada suit. He smiled, and Eliot finally found his voice.

 

“What. Ahmmm . . . what is this, exactly?” He asked, and Quentin took a few steps forward.

 

“It’s exactly what I told you. I’m asking someone out for the first time.” He said, and offered Eliot the roses. Eliot’s heart rode a dizzying, high-speed emotional elevator up into his throat and crouched there. He swallowed it back down.

 

“Are you trying to tell me that all this—all this planning was . . .”

 

“It was for you. Uhm . . . I’m sorry you had to cook. I didn’t want you to but Sebastian said you’d suspect if we didn’t let you because you’re smart and he knows these things better—”

 

“Quentin.” It was a gentle reminder, a tone that let Quentin know he was rambling. Quentin took a deep breath and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

 

“So. Will you, Eliot? Will you go out with me?” The question came out a bit rushed and shaky, but Eliot had never heard more glorious words.

 

“Like you even had to ask. Yes, Q. Yes of course.” He gasped laughter even as he felt tears sting his eyes. Quentin blinked like Eliot had slapped him, then seemed to realize what he’d said. He hugged himself and took another shuddering breath, and Eliot set the roses aside.

 

“Hey! Hug me, not yourself! Christ, you’re such a dork!” He drew the younger magician into a fierce hug and Quentin slipped his arms around Eliot, pressing his cheek against the soft satin of Eliot’s vest, realizing that their differences in height made them fit together like puzzle pieces. Eliot pushed a hand through Quentin’s hair, something he’d always wanted to do, and Quentin pulled back slightly to look up at him.

 

“You’re not mad that Sebastian and I tricked you?”

 

“I may have to punish you both later, which might actually be kind of hot, but for now? I’m so relieved that no one’s going to knock on that door and take you away from me that I don’t give a shit. I honestly don’t, Q—”

 

This time it was Quentin that silenced Eliot, only he did it with his lips, rising up on his toes a little to press his lips against Eliot’s in a long, slow kiss. Eliot melted into it and they stood there for a long while, tasting each other, the genesis of their discovering each other. Up on the steps, just out of sight, Sebastian watched, his chin resting on his tucked-up knees. A hand fell on his shoulder and he glanced up to see Margo crouched there. She nudged him over until they sat on the riser side by side.

 

“You did a nice thing.” She said softly. “But I won’t count it against you this time.”

 

“Thanks.” They watched the two men kiss. “I screwed up my own love life so badly . . . doing this makes me believe I could almost start over. Charlie did. Maybe I can too.”

 

“Are you kidding? You’re the anti-Quentin. The men on campus will want to eat you up with a fucking spoon when they realize you’re single!” Margo said quietly.

 

“I think I can live with that. And with being a magician.” He smiled. “It’s almost like a snake shedding its skin and becoming something better. Something so beautiful that no one would ever know what it might have been before.”

 

“Now you’re getting the idea.” Margo nodded. She floated one of the bottles of Moscato on the table into her hand, took a swig, and offered it to Sebastian, who grinned at her and took a drink of his own.

 

_Quentin said he’s not sure what magic really is,_ he thought as he watched his twin kiss the man who was clearly and for all intents and purposes, his soul mate, and felt it heal something inside his own heart, something that had been broken ever since the night Charlie kissed him back in Manhattan.

 

_But whatever it is, if it can fix a Blackworth, it must be something special._

_FIN_

 

 


End file.
